


Herbal Tea

by WhenJoshIsJoseph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Drarry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy, Friends to Lovers, Hot Drinks, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Living Together, Love, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Tumblr Prompt, Written for Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenJoshIsJoseph/pseuds/WhenJoshIsJoseph
Summary: Harry stumbles upon Draco Malfoy after him being missing for ten years. Harry being Harry, he offers to help Draco out. With hot drinks and cosy balconies, the two begin to feel something towards each other.Written for the Tumblr prompt: “Sorry. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in ten years.”Join the whenjoshisjoseph discord server!! --> https://discord.gg/vkVtHxE





	Herbal Tea

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a fic request for the brilliant @creatinglunasea on Tumblr. I hope that this is decent, and not too OOC. And I know I'm uploading a Christmas fic in the middle of June. I like to live life on the edge. (Jesus, I'm cringy.)

The November air is chilly, although the temperature isn’t really anything new to Harry, living in Britain. There’s something distinctly different about it to October, though, and he takes a moment to pause and breathe it in. He’s been doing that more and more; taking a moment to pause. He needs it nowadays, especially; ever since declining the position of Head Auror and resigning completely, the press has been swarming around him insistently, which is a feat considering how much they regularly pester him about the continued absence of any romantic relationship. Hermione does her best to keep them away, but it’s his problem to deal with, and deal with it he does.

Self-care is something he’s been neglecting for years now, trying to stay above everyone _else’s_ standards rather than his own. He should’ve been able to move on from the war, but his Mind Healer tells him that by throwing himself into the path of the Dark Arts for a living, he’s been forcing himself to hang on to those toxic memories. Well, not anymore, and he feels no obligation to explain it to anyone apart from his friends and family, who wholeheartedly agree with him. At least he’s done _that_ right.

Harry is rudely yanked out of his thoughts by someone running into him, full force. The weight of the person topples him over, and Harry is ready to give them a piece of his mind, before he looks up at a face that, whilst having matured since he saw it last, is still shockingly familiar.

“… _Malfoy_?!” If there was one person that would not have been found in Muggle Manchester, of all places, it would be Draco Malfoy. Not only because Malfoy Manor was in Wiltshire, and not even because he was in a Muggle area rather than a wizarding area, but because Malfoy hadn’t been _seen_ for years. Most people assumed that he’d either remained reclusive within his own house, or that he’d moved. Some hoped that he’d been dealt with, Harry being the polar opposite; he’d tried to find Malfoy multiple times, and for various reasons, with no success. He’d stopped himself from searching Malfoy Manor, because it would’ve looked obsessive, and Ron and Hermione were already worried for him.

And now, here he is, on top of Harry, looking terrified. He clutches Harry’s jacket, and blurts:

“Potter, I know you hate me, but I will pay you whatever you want to just _get me out of here_.” His voice is rough and hoarse, and he seems more surprised than Harry is at hearing those words. Harry wants to ask more, but at that moment, he hears the first yell.

Malfoy’s crystal grey eyes look desperately into Harry’s, and something in him compels him to wrap one arm around the platinum blonde and Disapparate – straight to his house, which is under the Fidelius Charm. There’s no turning back now; Malfoy knows the location of his home.

Speaking of Malfoy, the man is passed out on his sofa. His hair is expertly ruffled, and falls in waves around his angular face. He’s lean; too lean, as if he hasn’t been eating well. Whilst he wears designer clothes (Muggle, strangely enough), it’s apparent that he’s been wearing them for too long.

As dishevelled as he is, Malfoy still manages to look… _angelic_ , almost, which is unsettling, because Malfoy is not an angel in any way. He decides to leave him for now, although questions are buzzing about his mind. Harry knows from experience that it’s never a good idea to dwell on such thoughts, or to bombard a person with questions after they’ve passed out.

Harry instead decides to make some hot drinks. Luna showed him a wonderful recipe for various herbal teas that work different calming effects into a person, so Harry begins brewing a certain tea that has special soothing properties. Harry loses himself in the rhythm of stirring and adding ingredients, to the extent that he doesn’t notice Malfoy until the blonde is standing next to him. He says nothing, choosing to let Malfoy speak when he’s comfortable to.

It’s a surreal situation; standing in a cosy kitchen, the peaceful aroma of herbal tea filling the air, with Malfoy by his side. It’s not unwelcome, though; Harry finds that he doesn’t mind the company. Malfoy clears his throat.

“You may possibly have the most _uncomfortable_ couch I’ve ever crashed on, Potter.” His voice is weak, but his tone strong, and Harry is briefly reminded of a darker time, and the words, _‘I can’t be sure’_. He pushes it from his mind, and addresses Malfoy.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed, Malfoy.” He says it quietly, but Malfoy freezes at the words for a second, before replying.

“Sorry. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in ten years.” Harry drops the spoon, startled; he’s not expecting to hear _that_ at all. Malfoy deftly catches the spoon, though, and takes over brewing. “That’s quite an advanced magical tea recipe you’re making, Potter,” he says absentmindedly. “Consider me impressed.”

Harry still hasn’t quite absorbed the information, and he knows it’s a bad idea to ask, but he does it nonetheless.

“Malfoy…what do you mean, first person you’ve spoken to in ten years?” Harry speaks slowly and hesitantly, not sure how Malfoy is going to react. The blonde simply scoffs.

“Potter, I’m not an injured kitten. You don’t need to use that tone with me.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“Sorry?” Harry doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries; he needs to avoid Malfoy closing off. The kitchen is quiet for a minute or so, the silence broken only by the soft swish of the tea being stirred.

 “Thanks, though,” Malfoy says after a while, his voice softer than before. “for helping me get out of there. But I don’t want you to treat me like a trauma victim.”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s right to respond, so he doesn’t, but gets two mugs out of the cupboard. Malfoy pours the drinks, appearing relaxed, but Harry doesn’t believe that he’s just suddenly alright.

“Yeah, okay. But I’m not going to tell anyone anything you tell me. What you say here stays here, I swear. So, try to trust me, even if it’s only for now. Please.” Malfoy sighs.

“Do you have a better place to talk?”

*

Snowflakes fall lightly, and lights twinkle in the distance as he and Malfoy sip their hot drinks out on the balcony.

The balcony is one of the perks of Harry’s home, one he wasn’t quite expecting. It’s spacious, and with a few waterproof charms, warming charms, as well as a few select beanbags, it’s become one of his favourite spots in the house.

“And I just stopped trying. There were so many people after me. I would stay over at Blaise’s, or Pansy’s, or Greg’s, never saying anything, but they were probably the only reason I survived. It was never safe enough, though; I had to keep moving constantly.”

“The DMLE got rid of all the members, though; we tracked them all down. It was a major investigation at the time.” Malfoy laughs bitterly.

“The Aurors got rid of the main body. They had hired people to carry out their dirty work for them. As you know, some of the leaders were in too high a position to have each target killed personally. The people after me were some of those employees, still intent on revenge.” Harry groans, frustrated.

“This is a whole other issue. How many were there?” Malfoy’s looking out over the other buildings, and something about the sight draws Harry to him.

“About thirty-five,” he says. Harry can’t believe that Malfoy was able to survive that many trained killers after him especially. He’s about to reply, when Malfoy continues. “I don’t blame them. I can’t be forgiven.”

“Malfoy-”

“ _Draco._ Call me Draco. We aren’t kids anymore.”

“Draco,” Harry corrects himself, turning to face him properly. “the people hunting down ex Death Eaters are the ones in the wrong. It’s the kind of behaviour that started a war in the first place. And I forgave you years ago; you are most _definitely_ capable of being forgiven, but you have to forgive _yourself_ first. No-one else can do that for you.”

Draco chuckles.

“When did you become so sappy, Potter?” Harry rolls his eyes. Of course Draco isn’t going to take it seriously. These are words coming from him after all.

“If I get to call you Draco, you get to call me Harry.” Draco shoots him a pointed look.

“Fine then, _Harry_ ; where is this all coming from? Younger you probably would’ve told me that I absolutely _can’t_ be forgiven and that I’m being pathetic. What changed?”

“I grew up,” Harry answers seriously.

“You mean you grew _older_. You’re still really freaking short,” Draco teases.

“Shut _up_ ,” Harry grumbles in response, but he’s smiling.

*

“Are you sure about this?” Draco asks sceptically, surveying the room. It’s well furnished, with an _en suite_ and all. A king-sized bed stands proudly in the centre, with luscious red curtains surrounding the four-poster bed.

“Draco, Narcissa _wants_ you to stay with me. I’m not going to say no to her. And besides, now that you aren’t as bigoted, you’re actually a decent person.” Draco sighs in defeat, answering back nonetheless.

“Since when were _you_ so chummy with my _mother_?” he retorts. But Draco full well knows that this is the safest place for him. His mother was brave enough to approach the _Saviour of the Wizarding World_ , of all people, and who’s Draco to say no to some refuge?

Plus, Harry himself is a bonus. Gone is the scrawny, righteous kid that Draco always despised. He’s not actually grown that much taller, but it suits him. Years of Auror work have served him well, building some muscle and defining his jawline, and Draco has found himself staring more times than he’s comfortable with.

“Are you really going to throw a fuss about _this_?” Harry asks with an eyebrow raised, and Draco smiles sweetly.

“Of course not, oh Saviour.” Harry punches him in the arm lightly.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, _Ferret_.”

“Whatever you say, _Golden Boy_.”

“Prat.”

“Scarhead.”

“Are you two really bickering at _this_ age?” Narcissa says, appearing from the stairs. “Anyone would’ve thought you two were still schoolboys. Now,” she says, addressing Draco, “are you all settled in?”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco replies, earning a look from Harry. Narcissa doesn’t seem to notice this when she turns to him.

“Please tell me if he causes any sort of trouble. I know how picky he can be.” Draco splutters.

“Mother!” Narcissa only smiles knowingly at her son, sweeping him into a hug.

“You know I love you, Draco. Stay safe for me, darling.” Draco hugs her back for a long moment, flooded by how much he’s missed her. She pulls back and looks at him. “You’re safe; Harry Potter is looking after you.”

And aren’t those just the words that he never imagined he would hear?

*

The first time Harry wakes up next to Draco is over a month later, on Christmas Day. Well, _wake up_ is relative term. It’s much more accurate to say that he’s forced awake by a particularly grouchy Draco yelling in his ear. He opens his eyes blearily to find that he’s lying on Draco’s chest, arms wrapped out around him. Harry turns a bright red and scrambles back, embarrassed and confused.

“Draco? What are you doing in my bed?” Draco’s cheeks become a matching shade of red.

“You forgot to put up those Silencing Charms last night.” _Oh shit._ “You were screaming, and I came to wake you up, but you, uh…you seemed to want me to stay. So I did.”

If the ground could just open up and swallow him, that would be wonderful.

“Yeah, um…sorry about that.” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Don’t fucking apologise, Harry; it was my own decision.” Harry tries to respond, but ends up yawning, making Draco smile a little.

“What time is it, anyway?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to feel more awake. It doesn’t work.

“Six a.m.,” Draco replies smoothly.

“ _What?!_ Why the _hell_ would you wake me up so early, Draco?” Harry complains, but Draco simply leaves the room. Harry follows him, demanding an explanation. They end up in the living room together, where Draco points to a present under the tree that Harry is certain wasn’t there before. It’s addressed to him. Harry hesitantly picks it up.

“I don’t know if you’re waiting for next Christmas,” Draco drawls, “but I’d recommend you open it.” Harry doesn’t say anything, but carefully pulls the ribbon off, and not-so-delicately gets rid of the wrapping paper. Inside is a perfectly sculpted crystal snow globe, with two miniature figures inside it, sitting on a balcony and sipping drinks. Harry stares at it, transfixed.

“Here,” Draco says, gently twisting a key on the side of the globe. Soft music begins to play, and the figures rotate slowly.

“Draco,” Harry breathes. “It’s…it’s _gorgeous_. You didn’t have to…”

“I thought it would look good on the mantelpiece,” he responds simply, placing it there himself. He turns back to Harry, trying to gauge Harry’s next move. “Well…Merry Christm- _oof_!” Harry tackles him to the ground in a bearhug, and they stay like that, until Harry pulls back slightly.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m frankly still knackered. Wanna get some more sleep?” Draco grins at him in a way that makes Harry’s heart clench ever-so-slightly.

He doesn’t know _what_ it _is_ exactly, but Harry does know that this is the beginning of something great.

As they go back to bed, comfortable in each other’s embrace, snowflakes begin to fall softly outside, just like on the very first day that the universe threw Harry and Draco back together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on Tumblr at @fanatical-san! Comments are tips, so leave a few for me :D Corrections are much appreciated, and I hope you have a great day, fren <3


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